Some days I wake up with butterflies in my stomach.

Some nights I stay awake just thinking about the next time we meet.

I am obsessed. I want to talk about it all the time, show it to everyone. I miss its touch, and want to hear its voice. I don’t want to hear any story but its own.

I would do anything to be with it, find a way for it to love me, to accept me.

It scares me to the depths of my bones. What if it doesn’t work? Maybe it’s not good for me. Maybe it’s not logical to stay. But I cannot think. I am lovesick.

I tried to run away from it, but it always finds its way back to my heart. I search for pieces of it everywhere I go. Everything reminds me how beautiful it was, and how much more it could be. After promises to never turn back again. After all the hardship I have been through.

I always find my way back to Rome, because nothing else has ever felt like home.